Fracture
by TeaLogic
Summary: Rated for dark themes. Sebastian Moran watches and thinks, then plans. Slight MorMor, 2x03 & Character Study.


Fracture

_Sebastian Moran watches and thinks. Then plans. Insight for 2x03 & Character Study_

**A/N**: I know that in the episode whoever is John's sniper calmly packs up his things and leaves, but I wanted to mess around with an unstable Sebastian, so I hope you can forgive me for the canon screwing. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to inform me! :)

**Warnings/content**: **_Spoliers for 'The Reichenbach Fall'_**, dark thoughts/intentions, thoughts of suicide, death, swearing, Seb/Jim

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><p>Everything is over before it has even begun. He sees the swift movement, a free hand nimbly slipping into a pocket and drawing out the gun and Mr Holmes recoiling in horror. He's too far away to hear the noise, but he sees it. The almost grotesque explosion that is the result of a life being so violently cut off has its own private noise in his brain that screams in his ears and slams its fists on his skull, pulling at his eyeballs. There is a noise in the real world, a strangled sound. He recognises his own voice. Sebastian Moran is frozen to the spot, shaking, howling. He grips at the window frame to stop himself from pitching out of the window. The sound of his horror echoes up the staircase which is then suddenly cut off as he fights the waves of nausea that threaten to overwhelm him.<p>

Jim. His Jim. Who has never kept a secret from him. He tells him everything, all his thoughts and plans. The ramblings and schemes. The things he wants with him and _what exactly he wants with Sherlock._ His Jim who whispered insane lullabies at night, that high, breathy voice shivering in his ear and telling him tales as Sebastian curled around him-

"_And then, Sherly went aaaaaawl mad and crazy and then I thought-"_

_-_and Sebastian listened with a curious, maddening jealousy. It's where everything has gone wrong. Two psychopaths together in this crazy affair and Sebastian found himself suddenly on the outside. Whenever Sherlock Holmes was the focus, Sebastian no longer held the key to Jim. Jim may be holding him, Sebastian may be caressing him, but they no longer work together whenever Mr Sherlock Holmes is around.

Sebastian should have known, should have realised that Jim was so bored that he would die to be rid himself of it. He should have killed Sherlock Holmes long before, in the swimming pool. And watch his body blow to pieces.

And now there's this. Jim is dead. Everything is over. Sebastian now understands. Even from death, Jim still has instructions for Sebastian. He still has a job to do. He sits himself firmly on the stairs and spots his target. That short man. Jim is... was not a fan of John Watson. The amount of times Jim has balled his hands into fists, shouting and spitting over how John 'spoils' Sherlock. How John tampers with Sherlock's image when he is hovering nearby. Jim cannot concentrate with John Watson around and just _cannot focus! _

Well, now he has his chance. John Watson has spotted Sherlock Holmes and they're talking. Sebastian's hand trembles on the trigger, he is _dying _to know what is being said. He wants to know if John can hear the ringing, the screaming. Sebastian watches him carefully with dark eyes, knowing what John is about to feel in that heartbeat.

The expression on John's face when Sherlock completes his flight is nothing like Sebastian has ever seen. Even after Holmes' falls he keeps his mark on John Watson, following him. As he watches the man crash into a cyclist the need to pull the trigger is almost overwhelming. Sebastian can imagine the release, the power. Messing up Jim's plans for the final time feeds his mind like air. Destroying everything left is almost a requirement. He can be in control. He takes himself out, he is not here, squatting in the window in a block of flats. He and Jim are in their studio apartment in the centre of London. He's holding Jim. Stroking him.

"_Sometimes I want to just_ squeeze_ the life out of Joh-"_

His sweaty palms slip from the hold he has on his rifle and it falls from his grasp, clattering down the stairs. It's over. He moves from his position, bending down to pick up the rifle. He begins to pack up. Out of the corner of his eye he watches from the window and he can see John Watson being pushed away from the body of Sherlock Holmes. He smiles and hums a dull tune to himself, thinking about how clear today was. Perfect shooting conditions.

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><p>That very night, he goes to that very rooftop. He does a double take to see that everything is bare, spare the faint stains that linger on the ground like ectoplasm. To anyone those stains could be anything. Sebastian lives for traces, with it being the very essence of his work. He feels sick, shaky. He wobbles over to the ledge and looks up at the inky sky. Such a fierce clean up of evidence has rocked him to the core and he has to sit down. Mycroft Holmes is a bastard, taking the scene away from him. Anything of Jim in his final moments has gone forever now.<p>

Sebastian looks at the gun he has with him, taken from the drawer on Jim's side of the bed. He turns it over in his hands, feeling for the fingers that once grasped this gun. Then it's in his mouth, the cold metal tasting like blood. His mind cracks, a loud splinter down the centre of his brain and his ears roar with the sound of it all. He gags as he shoves the gun even further down his throat, welcoming the lack of air and the salty water that drips down his cheeks. An ironic thought crosses his mind. He forgets it and thinks of John. Wonders where he is. What he's doing.

There is the loud bang of a door being slammed open and it's a cue. He fiercely pulls the gun out of his mouth and he's peering over the edge, compelled to know who is storming from St Barts at 3AM in the morning. His eyesight is like a cats and he almost collapses at the sight of a tall, thin man running into the darkness of London's streets, coat and scarf flying behind him like a creature from hell. Sebastian turns on his heel. Plans are formulating and it's time to wait for the right moment to kill John Watson.

Sebastian Moran wants to call this patience. Not endurance, where it makes life such a burden.


End file.
